Anything that is stifled will eventually ferment or explode.
Now I am silent, hate Up to my neck, Thick, thick. I do not speak.
I often don't say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you'd never guess from looking at me.
The funeral was over, at last I could cry. Except that I couldn't. My tears, kept in too long, had fossilized. They would have to stay in forever now.
There was something awful about terror trapped behind silence. About latent emotions that couldn't be acted out." "Cole's thoughts on page 248 of Linger.
When I am really angry, I clam up, go cold.
I don't express a lot of things that I feel; I kind of register things.
One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter.
I've had it with you and your emotional constipation!
I can mourn internally, just be quiet about it. I have my moments but I'm not a real, expressive person, especially when it comes to like sadness.
Have you ever had so much to say that your mouth closed up so tight, struggling to harness the nuclear force coalescing within your words?" -346
She didn't understand what it was like to be filled with a love so strong that it made your chest ache—a love you could only feel and not express. Keeping love buried was a lot like keeping anger pent up, I'd learned. It just ate you up inside until you wanted to scream or kick something.
